


Take the Clothes Off My Back (The White T-Shirt)

by PainInTheLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dirty Jokes, Dirty Thoughts, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Hook-Up, Innocence, Innuendo, Loss of Virginity, Lust, M/M, One Shot, Sharing Clothes, Slice of Life, University, lots of mentions of sex but nothing graphic, louis is a filthy boy who never sleeps with the same person twice until he meets harry, or really hook-up to lovers, sexual innuendo so subtle that i wonder if anyone besides me will know it's sexual innuendo, white t-shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PainInTheLarry/pseuds/PainInTheLarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's trying to write an essay but Louis can't get over how good he looks in their white t-shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Clothes Off My Back (The White T-Shirt)

**Author's Note:**

> I really love when the boys share clothes, and this is my university-style headcanon about H&L’s infamous white t-shirt.
> 
> Enjoy! :3
> 
> Be warned, I am American. Please let me know if you spot any misuse of English terminology. Thanks!

Maybe Louis stares too much, but, god, he loves the way Harry's shirt rides up.

It’s doing that now, the bunched up white fabric exposing that sliver of honey skin of his lower back. Exposing those beautiful love handles that Harry hates so much. Louis wants to kiss them, kiss up and down Harry's spine, mouth at each individual bump of bone, touch his lips to all the singular strings of muscle, and lick over every inch of Harry's golden outer layer.

God, Louis loves the way Harry's shirt rides up. Harry probably doesn’t even notice him noticing. He's sitting there at his desk, typing away dutifully, like the proper young student that he is, even though there's less than a meter between them. Maybe Louis’s the only one who feels the tease of the miniscule distance. Or maybe it's just because Harry's roommate is gone, Louis's on Harry's bed, and Harry's not here with him.

Harry keeps turning from the computer to the novel resting beside it, looking for quotes to use in his paper, while Louis' eyes are sinking deep into the waves of white, wrinkled fabric that come and go with every twist of Harry's torso. Louis can’t distract him now, he knows Harry's deadlines. He knows that paper’s due tomorrow morning. But that knowledge doesn’t stop him from wanting to devour him right about now.

“Almost done, babe?”

Harry sighs. “Not really.” And Louis knows that too, but he had to ask because, god, Harry looks too good. He's making it hard for Louis to keep himself from shattering Harry's concentration. Harry looks at the clock, bites his lip mournfully. “I’ll... just work for another twenty minutes.”

Louis should've known he'd say this. Harry usually split up his work over a few days, or at least a whole day, taking short breaks every hour. But tonight he doesn't have the time. And that's Louis' fault, and he knows it. Louis knows he's been selfish ever since Harry became his addiction. He'd been intercepting Harry in the cafeteria, library, hallway, laundry room. He'd been capturing his lips in his before Harry had a chance to protest, to tell him that he had to go to class, to go study, to go write a paper. But Louis was the one who found Harry's weakness, found it deep inside of him. Found it where Harry'd never before let anyone else go. Found it and got him addicted to his love.

So even though Louis' entire body is pulsing with the desire to steal Harry away right now, to bring him onto this bed and into his arms, he knows that there would be consequences. Harry'd wake up tomorrow absolutely distraught at missing his deadline. Harry cares about his grades. And to be fair, Louis doesn’t think the probability of Harry regretting sleeping with him is worth the act. So although he knows that he has the power to get Harry here (Bless him, he's so easily tempted by the forbidden fruit.), Louis knows that the last thing he wants to do right now is exercise that power. Not until Harry's free. So instead of begging Harry to plant himself in Louis' lap, he says, “Or you could push through until you’re done."

Louis used to worry that he was taking advantage of Harry, because he was only a freshman when they met. Harry'd only recently left home for the first time. He was only just realizing what the real world was like. He hadn't fully figured out who he was. (Not that either of them have now.) But then Harry kept looking at him the way he does, eyes wide and innocent, questioning, silently asking Louis if it was okay to feel what he was. And Louis had to show him just how okay it was. He looked behind Harry's nerves and saw that fire in him, the one Harry was learning that it was okay to fan between the sheets instead of douse with a cold shower. Harry's told him that he'd always wanted this, but never knew what he was missing until Louis showed him how to feel the stars.

Harry turns to where Louis’s sprawled out on Harry's bed, phone in hand, acting as if he's calm and not about ready to pounce on his boyfriend. Pretending to occupy himself with anything on the little screen, anything to keep Harry from knowing he'd been undressing him with his eyes. Harry's expression is fixed into a pout so lovely that Louis almost takes it seriously before Harry says, “But you’re so much more interesting than Moby Dick." He aims a tired glare at the novel in question.

Harry doesn’t seem to be bothered by his t-shirt riding up, the one they both share wearing now. But Louis's sure that piece of Harry must be cold, exposed to the air like it is. He wants to run his hands along it. He wants to share warmth.

“Am I now?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows and pulls at the loose fabric in the crotch of his joggers. “Is it that impressive?”

Louis count the milliseconds of silence before Harry catches on to his gutter-dwelling mind. “You’re terrible.” Harry roll his eyes, but Louis knows he loves that. “But yes.”

“Then finish your work, love. You can see my blow hole when you're done."

Harry blows a gust of air off his bottom lip, and his fringe floats up on the wave of his frustrations. He turns back to face the laptop screen as he admits, “You’re right.” Louis might want to start worrying about how used to his terrible jokes Harry is.

“I know,” Louis smiles at Harry's back. And Louis thinks he should also be terrified of how easy this feels. He can’t recall ever wishing to become so domesticated. He used to be a real player, having been dealt a fantastic hand at birth and having learned early on how to pull a convincing bluff, but then Harry came strutting around the corner on move-in day with his wide eyes and brown boots and Louis found himself unable to lie to him. Found himself wanting to show him all that he knows. Which is just what he became.

The morning after Louis took Harry's virginity, Louis woke up to the smell of the world's best pancakes and the sound of an angel singing The Script. It was dream-like at first, but once he realized Harry was the source, he panicked. He couldn't believe he'd stayed the night. Louis usually made it a point to never fall asleep next to his hook-ups, but he remembered the warmth of Harry's arms from the previous night feeling like home. Louis thought he had made a huge mistake. He never thought Harry'd want him to stay.

He got dressed in a hurry, but he couldn't find his shirt. He walked out into Harry's dorm’s kitchen to ask him if he remembered where Louis'd thrown it the night before, unaware that he had already found it.

They hadn't had "the talk" yet. They weren't official or unofficial. Harry was never the type to ask those kinds of questions, never needed to know where they were headed, he was perfectly content to simply enjoy the ride. Louis doesn't know that Harry even thought to expect an official declaration, because Harry simply assumed that they were together. Or, at least, he thought that sex meant he had the authority to wear nothing but Louis' shirt.

He was right, of course.

Since then, whenever Louis sees Harry in that shirt, he can't help but stare. It takes him back to that time, their first morning, and Louis's caught between love and a laugh. They're not exactly the same shape. Harry has height, but Louis has curves. It's not that the shirt doesn't fit them both, but they fill it out in different ways. Louis hopes they're still wearing it when they're fifty.

Looking at Harry now, in all his worn-down, stressed-out and pouty glory, Louis wonders if Harry knows how much that shirt means to him. It was there for the break of Louis' vicious cycle, for the realization that Harry was Louis' calling, for the first time Louis let someone get close enough to love him.

Harry's arms reach up to the ceiling and he lets the stretch coax a gentle groan from within him. It sends Louis' insides frantic as he desperately tries not to imagine the noise coming from Harry in a completely different context. Harry throws a knowing smirk over his shoulder at Louis, and Louis’s amazed that he's not afraid of how easily Harry sees right through him. “No playing dirty,” Louis says.

Harry sinks back down into his chair, defeated, and resumes typing, hunched over the keyboard as if he thinks the enthusiasm will make him work faster. The way Harry's shirt rides up makes Louis want to nudge it along until it’s nowhere near him. And that’s what Louis does a few hours later, when Harry’s all but thrown his laptop across the room to leap onto the bed as his finished essay begins printing.

Louis can’t help the laugh that escapes him when Harry's lips finally find his, eager with teenage lust, student victory, scholastic rebellion. And as Louis' fingertips find their way between the white fabric and Harry's honey skin to smooth over his back, he thinks, _‘God, I love it when your shirt rides up.’_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come visit my [tumblr](http://paininthelarry.tumblr.com/) to say hi or leave me a prompt! :3


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